


ataraxia

by rainbow_porcupine_ninja



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Tags added as more chapters are added, and there was only one bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21952285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbow_porcupine_ninja/pseuds/rainbow_porcupine_ninja
Summary: —‘It’s like they’re tryin’ to punissssh us,’ Crowley hissed, his breath disturbing the lonely air and the silence that wrapped around them like a blanket. He glanced up at the sky under his sunglasses, which he had somehow still kept on.‘You don’t think they would so soon, would you?’ Aziraphale mumbled. It had only been a week or so, and Aziraphale had foolishly thought that up above and down below would leave them alone forever.‘Why not? A nefarious angel and a virtuoussss demon,’ Crowley whimpered, pulling ever closer. ‘They hate anything they don’t understand.’‘Let’s just get to Tadfield, my dear,’ Aziraphale breathed, and they began to pick up their pace.—Christmas time for Aziraphale and Crowley bring about new challenges— Heaven and Hell aren’t about to let go of them just yet.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	ataraxia

**Author's Note:**

> I think this fic will be about 4-5 chapters... but we’ll see. We’ll see.
> 
> Thanks so much to sdewan6 for being a lovely beta in such short notice! Also, the chapter title is a lyric from Panic! At The Disco’s Northern Downpour because, as anyone who’s come into close proximity with me in the last two years, I’m a huge slut for them.
> 
> Enjoy the story and as always let me know what you think— and keep your eyes peeled for the next update! (Anywhere from a week to two years, really XD)
> 
> Happy holidays everyone!

He wasn’t _nervous_ , exactly, Aziraphale reasoned to himself while fixing his bow tie in the mirror. It was just that, well, _something_ had changed between them after they had stopped Armageddon.

If Aziraphale was being completely honest with himself, it had something to do with the whole _picking sides_ arrangement; now that _that_ had been blown out of the water Aziraphale didn't really have a reason to not ‘fraternise’ with the demon anymore.

Not that Aziraphale didn’t _like_ Crowley. Hating Crowley was as hard as hating books, or cocoa. It was just, well, he was a demon. Loving him (he choked on his own mental phrasing and tried to shut it out of his mind) went against everything he had learnt in Heaven. 

It was just a few days after Armaggeddidn’t that Aziraphale noticed the tension shifting between them, like the wind had changed directions completely. Crowley started being _nice_ to him, for God/Satan/whomever’s sake. A _demon_ . Being _nice_ . And when Aziraphale had called Crowley ‘dear’, sad demon had actually _blushed_. 

In half an hour, they would be dining together. In Crowley’s _flat_. 

Aziraphale looked at himself in the mirror once more and sighed deeply. 

Crowley had, in the span of more than 6000 years, gone from a devilish creature and hereditary enemy of his to Aziraphale’s best friend; a loud, cunning and obnoxious but terribly sweet person with a taste for expensive designer sunglasses, his car and having lunch at the Ritz. 

Aziraphale couldn’t really imagine life without him, and that was why he was so nervous, he supposed. He was scared of messing up what they had built together, this strange relationship that both of them seemed to care too much about. 

Now that no one was there to stop them (not for a couple years at least, or at least he hoped) they could spend more time together. 

That, or Aziraphale could accidentally say something to send Crowley off in a storm of fiery rage and they might never speak again for the next millennia or so.

He dweedled around the bookshop, trying to ignore his conflicting feelings about Crowley, rearranging the front bookshelf. Then, after hearing the abysmal honk of Crowley’s Bentley, he stepped outside into the cold and prepared himself for the evening to come. 

***

Crowley glanced at his passenger through the sunglasses that were perched precariously on his nose. 

‘Music, Angel?’ he sauntered, not waiting for a response as he organised the Queen CD, one hand on the steering wheel.

‘Watch the road,’ Aziraphale chided, holding onto the side door with concern clear in his bright eyes. 

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Crowley dismissed him as ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’ came blaring out of the speakers. He put both hands back on the wheel anyway, feeling Aziraphale’s look of disapproval. 

Honestly, the things Crowley did for him.

They enjoyed a nice, quiet ride to Crowley’s flat.

‘...And I told them that this particular book was not for sale,’ Aziraphale was saying as they entered the elevator. ‘And then I made my best Crowley evil face, and I went…’

‘Hold on a second,’ Crowley interrupted, huffing. ‘What does a Crowley evil face look like, exactly?’

‘Well,’ Aziraphale said, his eyes practically glowing, ‘it goes a little like this.’ 

The (former) angel immediately slumped down and put on what Crowley was sure to be his most menacing expression, eyes squinting and scowling. 

‘And then they left!’ he finished, going back to a cheery smile, so bright that Crowley had to glance away. He rolled his eyes. 

‘Am I supposed to take offence to this, or…’ Crowley drawled, leaning a hand against the wall of the elevator a few inches next to Aziraphale’s head.

‘Oh no,’ Aziraphale replied, looking shocked. ‘It was quite gratifying really. I should really thank you for the inspiration, they could have actually tried to buy a book, and I do not know what I could have resorted to doing.’

‘Anyway,’ he continued, seeing the look on Crowley’s face, ‘You’re not evil, you’re actually very sweet once people get to know you—’

‘Oh, sssshut up,’ Crowley said mildly as they stepped out of the elevator, feeling his face heat up. 

There had been a time, not that long ago, when Crowley had pressed Aziraphale up against the wall to remind him, noses almost touching, that he was a _demon_ , and he was not _sweet_. He had enjoyed, the sadist that he was, watching Aziraphale squirm at the closeness of their faces and blush as Crowley’s breath tickled his neck. 

Those were simpler times, and the nearing doom of the apocalypse had made Crowley desperate.

Now, however, Crowley was a coward when it came to Aziraphale. A big, fat, pining coward.

‘After you,’ Crowley said smoothly as he opened the door for Aziraphale, trying to be a gentleman. 

‘So, what’s for dinner?’ Aziraphale stammered, suddenly looking shy. Crowley, trying his best not to pout in sympathy, just wanted to go to Aziraphale, to wrap him up in his arms to make his shyness disappear. 

But that wasn’t how this worked. It wasn’t how any of this worked. 

‘I was thinking I would make us soufflés… I remember you liking them when we went out a couple decades ago and, well-’

‘You’re making me food?’ Aziraphale gasped, awed.

‘I mean, it’s no big deal… I thought because we always go out we could try something different, but it’s alright, we can go out if you’d like, I know a place,’ Crowley babbled, faltering as Aziraphale stepped closer, smiling. 

‘It’s a lovely idea, my dear,’ Aziraphale said, as he grabbed Crowley’s hand and squeezed it. 

Crowley smiled weakly. ‘Then I’ll get out that Cabernet you seemed to love last time.’

  
  
  


‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale asked tentatively. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, angel, I’m quite fine,’ Crowley muttered distractedly, sliding the dishes into the oven and turning back to his wine glass, which he had been nursing for most of the night. 

‘It’s just… you haven’t been yourself this evening,’ Aziraphale observed. ‘You barely gave a passing glance to those miserable plants of yours when we walked by them and your hips weren’t moving as, well, _elegantly_ as they do regularly, I suppose.’ 

Crowley choked on his Cabernet and put the glass down on the marble stepping closer to Aziraphale incredulously.

_‘What?_ ’ he questioned. 

‘Well, erm,’ Aziraphale hummed as Crowley got nearer and nearer, ‘your hips move a lot when you’re walking, my dear. It’s like, hmm, well, I don’t know, a sort of figure eight motion, or something. It’s clearly how a snake would walk if it had legs.’

‘I don’t walk that noticeably, do I?’ Crowley muttered, turning and walking as naturally as he could down his dimly-lit hallway. 

He felt his hips move, as they were supposed to, of course, but nothing was out of place. Of course, his legs were swinging around a bit and knees bending at appropriate intervals, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

‘See?’ Crowley announced, grinning, to Aziraphale, who looked like he had Very Much Been Proven Right. ‘I don’t do a _figure motion with my hips_ , don’t be ridiculous.’

Aziraphale hmmed into his wine glass and decided to leave the matter well alone. 

‘Anyway. Have you heard from the Youngs lately?’

Crowley tipped his face to the ceiling, trying to remember. 

Adam, although he was the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness, was quite a nice boy ( _not_ that Crowley went around telling people that. Heavens, hell’s _Heck_ no-- he had a reputation to maintain). 

And as for the parents, well, anyone who had raised the Antichrist to save the world had to be worth knowing, if just a little. 

As for hearing from them lately.. he vaguely remembered a brief conversation over the telephone from Adam.. Crowley was sure that it was not of much importance, however. It was most likely about his new motorbike that had mysteriously appeared on his doorstep for his birthday… 

‘Hold on just a second,’ Crowley announced, looking back down to eye height and catching a red-faced Aziraphale staring at his neck. 

‘That boy said something about us visiting for Christmas! They’re inviting that horrible couple, you know the one, the witchfinder and the psychic, and Anathema and... her boy.’ Crowley remembered. 

‘Of course, we don’t have to go if we don’t want to,’ Crowley reasoned, mostly to himself, propping his legs up onto Aziraphale’s lap. ‘We’ll have to get presents, and wear nice things, and most likely _sing carols_ —‘

‘That sounds splendid, my dear!’ Aziraphale said with as much enthusiasm as Beezlebub had when they were talking about flies (That was the only thing they had ever talked about with that much vivid description and excitement). 

Crowley groaned. ‘Of course that would be a thing that you’d be into.’ He got up to get the soufflés.

  
  
  


‘You need to get into the Christmas spirit, my dear,’ Aziraphale chided as he took his first bite of soufflé. 

‘Oh, heavens!’ he exclaimed and Crowley looked up quickly. ‘This is incredible! Crowley, I didn’t know you could cook!’ 

Crowley, unsure as to whether he should take that as good or bad, grunted. He leaned in to watch as Aziraphale took his next bite and closed his eyes. Then he patted his mouth with a napkin and leaned in as well.

‘Crowley, I know you would rather stay here and have a quiet Christmas, but they’ve offered, haven’t they?’ Aziraphale chided as Crowley tried not to redden under his gaze. 

‘And besides, I know you’re a _demon_ and you’re not supposed to ‘enjoy family matters’ but you’ve never been one to follow the rules, have you dear?’ Aziraphale said fondly. 

Crowley scowled and was about to tell him that demons could enjoy family matters, thank you very much, but then Aziraphale took another bite and Crowley didn’t want to distract him from the food. An Aziraphale distracted from food was far less angelic.

‘Look, we can go if you want,’ Crowley sighed, realising how domestic this conversation had become. Because of course the idea that they would be going separately hadn’t crossed _anyone’s_ mind. ‘We can go if you want, he continued, trying not to go down that train of thought, ‘but only if we get a joint present, because I have no idea what to get the parents.’

Aziraphale lit up while Crowley adjusted his sunglasses. ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he said. 

‘Mgk,’ Crowley said intelligently.

  
  
  


It was about twenty miles out of London, where the highrises turned into houses which turned into paddocks covered in blankets of snow, where the trouble first began. 

They sat in companionable silence, listening to the Queen music that could never be turned off or changed. 

Aziraphale stared out the window and pointed out the towns he recognised, and Crowley listened, providing sarcastic feedback when Aziraphale thought that he wasn’t paying attention. 

‘Almost there, angel,’ Crowley murmured as they hurtled down the bumpy road, listening to the sounds of the presents in the back bounce around and wincing. 

‘Really, dear, is there any need to go 100 miles an hour in this terrain?’ Aziraphale chided, holding onto the side of the car with impatience and concern.

‘Sooner the better, _dear_ ,’ he mimicked, rattled. Something was wrong, he could feel it—

Crowley slowed down- to 80, 40, 30 miles. 

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale said in surprise. ‘I didn’t mean…’

‘Shh,’ Crowley whispered harshly. ‘I can feel something.’

And then the engine abruptly stopped.

The momentum carried the Bentley over and over and over itself until they crashed into one of the dead trees littering the isolated fields. 

When Crowley refocused, he snapped up and looked around wildly, grabbing at Aziraphale in fear. The angel was doing the same, and there was blood running down his cheek.

‘Angel, you’re bleeding, are you alright?’ Crowley panicked and clutched at his arm.

‘I’m fine, my dear boy,’ Aziraphale said distractedly, touching the side of his face and viewing the ichor on his fingertips with disdain. ‘What on _earth_ was that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Crowley decided. Thank Someone for their immortality. If they were human, they could both be dead. 

He observed the world outside them; the white snow against the setting sun, the ephemeral quiet of the afternoon. There was no one else around. 

That he could see.

‘Ohh, no, oh _fuck_ ,’ Crowley gasped as he took in the damaged windscreen, ruined paint, bashed up metal, ruined tires. There was smoke coming from somewhere, he could smell it.

‘And I just got those tires replaced,’ Crowley murmured, heartbroken. 

‘It’s alright, Crowley, we can miracle it back anyway,’ Aziraphale reminded him gently as he pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his face. 

‘You’re wrong,’ Crowley muttered, drumming his fingers against his thigh.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’re _wrong_ , Aziraphale,’ Crowley babbled. ‘I can’t feel it. The demonic miracle stuff. It’s gone, I can’t do shit anymore!’

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. 

‘Please tell me that you can do something with that angelic power of yours, angel,’ Crowley challenged. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened ever so slightly. 

Crowley rolled his head to gaze at the burning hole in the roof of his beloved Bentley.

‘We’re fucked,’ he sighed.

Aziraphale sat up at once. ‘Well, what should we do about it?’ he pleaded. ‘We can’t just _sit_ here.’

‘What do you proposssssse, angel? We chance the walk two miles to Tadfield and get dissssscorporated?’ Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale tipped up his head in that haughty way of his, and smiled dangerously. ‘Yes,’ he said and promptly forced the car door open, walking out into the cold and dark of the outside world.

  
  


In hindsight, Aziraphale thought, perhaps risking an hour’s walk in the snow in negative temperatures with nothing but their undercoats with them wasn’t a good idea. It had started snowing again with a new vigor as the two entities walked side by side in the cold.

Crowley wasn’t coping very well with the temperature. Aziraphale remembered reading something ages ago-- it was about how snakes were one of the most endothermic animals and so they couldn’t create heat to warm themselves. Seeing how Crowley was shrinking into himself and shivering, Aziraphale couldn’t help but think that he was serpent-like in this way as well.

Well, Aziraphale wasn’t coping well either, given that he was only in 3 layers of the least insulated material in the world, so he did what any sensible person would do. He grabbed Crowley’s wrist, slowly intertwining their fingers and trying not to shiver at the ice-cold skin he was pressed partly against. 

Aziraphale ignored Crowley’s surprised gaze, then small squeeze, and slinked closer, as they walked on. 

“This is purely for warmth,” Aziraphale chided to himself as Crowley’s thumb grazed his wrist. 

How would Crowley react if Aziraphale stopped and pulled him closer, closer, slunk a hand under his clothes, kissed his frozen skin and tried to give him warmth everywhere? 

Pointless, he knew. They would both freeze to death. 

‘It’s like they’re tryin’ to punissssh us,’ Crowley hissed, his breath disturbing the lonely air and the silence that wrapped around them like a blanket. He glanced up at the sky under his sunglasses, which he had somehow still kept on.

‘You don’t think they would so soon, would you?’ Aziraphale mumbled. It had only been a week or so, and Aziraphale had foolishly thought that up above and down below would leave them alone forever. 

‘Why not? A nefarious angel and a _virtuoussss_ demon,’ Crowley whimpered, pulling ever closer. ‘They hate anything they don’t understand.’

‘Let’s just get to Tadfield, my dear,’ Aziraphale breathed, and they began to pick up their pace.

  
  
  
  


Newt opened the door to the two freezing, sopping wet celestial beings half an hour later and screamed. ‘What the dickens happened to you two? Where’s your luggage? How come-‘

‘Newt, for fuck’s sake, just let them in,’ Anathema said, bristling, as she opened the door wide enough for them to toddle in, shivering. ‘Let’s get you both thawing near the fireplace.’ She looked around outside, searching for something perhaps, then shut out the wind and snow.

  
  


When Aziraphale was able to notice anything again, he was draped on a paisley couch next to the fire in the hearth. He felt Crowley’s thick, cold snake form around his body, cuddling and burrowing into his warmth. 

Mrs. Young was loitering around, and when she realised that the angel in her living room was awake, she immediately turned and hurried into the kitchen, mumbling something under her breath..

Aziraphale sighed and sat up, moving the sleeping beast so that Crowley’s head was perched in his lap. The room was colourfully lit for the season, a decorative tree in the corner and holly draped around the railings. 

Christmas always felt, to Aziraphale, like a big pop-up sign advertising Heaven and all its glory. All those pictures of Jesus Christ and of God. Aziraphale had, for years, felt constricted in his own religion, that he had had some part of. God had always been the force behind everything Aziraphale did—- he had never distrusted Her word. Now that he was essentially discharged from Heaven, well, She would always have a place in Aziraphale’s life, but now he was… free to roam.

Of course, Aziraphale never questioned, never went against Her and Her ineffable plan. But perhaps what She represented wasn’t the same as what She wanted from Aziraphale. Maybe this year could be different. Maybe this freedom meant that he could make his own decisions, his own choices on what he did, where he went, who he encountered. Maybe this meant that Christmas could be crafted into something else; a symbol of love, of familial bonding.

For a moment, Aziraphale forgot the perilous journey that got them here; the supernatural encounter that stopped the car that couldn’t be stopped, the temperature dropping, the miracles that, well, ceased to be.

Aziraphale smiled to himself and patted the scales on his cuddly snake, who curled up tighter in response.

Soon, Anathema hurried into the living room. ‘The great angel has woken,’ she muttered, a small smile creeping up on her face when she saw the sleeping snake curled up in Aziraphale’s arms. 

She handed Aziraphale a steaming cup of tea, which he appreciated, then took a seat on one of the armchairs. 

‘So what’s all this fuss all about, huh?’ Anathema asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘Where did the Bentley go and why is Crowley a snake?’

Aziraphale sighed, absentmindedly running a finger down the snake’s red belly. ‘I wish I could tell you, dear, but I hardly know more than you. We were travelling down the main road, then all of the sudden, the engine stopped working. We weren’t able to do any miracles either, so we chanced the walk.’

Anathema’s nose crinkled. ‘And you didn’t think to call us?’

‘Call you?’ Aziraphale’s voice wavered. ‘There’s no landline in the Bentley, dear, how could we?’

‘No, Aziraphale, with a phone, ugh, of course you wouldn’t— never mind, I’ll talk to Crowley in the morning. Are you able to do any miracles yet?’

Aziraphale closed his eyes, testing the waters. ‘I’m afraid not,’ he said miserably. ‘Which doesn’t make sense, for how come Crowley could transform into a snake?’

They both peered down at the sleeping demon. 

‘Well I suppose,’ Anathema began, ‘he’s always been able to, hasn’t he?’

Aziraphale thought back to the time when he first met Crowley, when his scales turned into locks of hair and red and black turned into eons and eons of creamy, moon-pale skin. 

‘So it’s not really a miracle, then is it?’ Anathema said softly. ‘It’s a part of him. Crowley is the snake and the snake is Crowley.’

There would have been a time, 6000 years ago, when Aziraphale would have shivered in disgust at a thought such as that, but now he only sipped his tea and smiled down at Crowley, an indescribable feeling building up inside him.

Anathema got up from the chair and brushed off her skirt. ‘We can talk more about it in the morning, Aziraphale. But for now, get some rest. Your bed is up the stairs, at the end of the corridor.’ 

_Bed_ , Aziraphale thought dumbly. _Singular._

She made her way across the room to the door, then paused, her slim hands wrapped around the doorknob. ‘Oh, and Aziraphale?’

He shifted in his seat to face her fully, wary of the serpent draped across his torso.

‘It isn’t… that angel isn’t it?’

Aziraphale’s blood ran cold. Gabriel. It could well be.

‘I… don’t know, dear,’ he murmured, staring at the embers in the fireplace that were floating around aimlessly in search of something to set them alight again. 

Anathema left Aziraphale sitting by the fire, listlessly staring off into the distance until his tea went cold and his hands began to ache from clutching the mug. Then Aziraphale draped Crowley around his neck, like a living scarf, and made his way up the rickety steps of the big old house and to his room.

_Their_ room.

He paused in the doorway; the room was bare, except for a chest,a writing desk near the window looking out into the darkness of the night, and a bed in the middle of the room.

_One_ bed.

Aziraphale sighed, for he truly was tired and he could let his mind get anxious about that later. 

He undressed down to his undershirt and shorts after placing Crowley carefully on one of the silk pillows, and slid into bed, reaching out to turn off the dusty bed lamp beside him. 

He heard a groan and quickly turned to see a human Crowley cuddled next to him, scales disappearing and leaving expanses of golden skin in their wake. 

Aziraphale pressed his lips together to suppress the squeak that was planning on escaping his mouth and turned off the lamp. He then sat back into the bed, lying down on the lumpy double bed and sighed in relief as the darkness embraced him. It had been a long day.

He almost gave a shout when he felt an arm crawl around him, pulling him closer. Aziraphale was forced to turn and face the demon, now fast asleep on his chest. 

Aziraphale didn’t have the heart to care, or think, or even breathe, as slid his arm under Crowley to pull him closer and nestle into that soft red hair. 

Crowley muttered something unintelligible and Aziraphale stroked his back, listening to the demon’s deep, slow breathing at his neck until he himself slowly fell into a deep, restful slumber, his companion tucked into his side.


End file.
